A Study in Silver

Summary: Recently disgraced Healer, Roxanne Weasley, finds herself at the center of a public health crisis. With the death toll rising, she must team up with an unlikely partner to unravel the mystery.

Prologue

The Daily Prophet fluttered against Roxanne Weasley’s hands as an
unseasonable morning wind whipped down Diurn Alley. She struggled with
her newspaper, trying not to lose hold of it, and took another sip of
her cappuccino.

Just across the road a Quidditch star shielded her face
against the flashes of paparazzi lenses. Roxanne didn’t even register
the commotion and kept her attention focused on the Prophet
headlines. After seven years living on Diurn Alley, she’d become well
accustomed to the bursts of activity surrounding some visiting
celebrity.

Despite sitting only a brisk fifteen minute walk from the wizarding
commercial center at Diagon Alley only a minority of Britain’s magical
population ever came to Diurn. An alley in name alone, Diurn was more of
a boulevard. Its wide street was smooth, rather than cobbled—all the
better for walking in expensive heels. Roxanne had gotten used to that
sound; the clack-clack-clacking of stylish witches and adventurous
wizards criss-crossing between the shops. Diurn Alley had always been a
magnet for the rich and famous, with its unplottable apartment buildings
and couture robe shops. As a result, gossip magazines kept a constant
presence of journalists stationed in the area to intercept their
targets.

Not that Roxanne had ever attracted much attention herself. Unlike the
rest of her family, she’d managed to live most of her twenty-eight years
with only limited mention in the press and her reputation had primarily
been confined to the world of Healing. With a sullen sinking in her
chest, she realized how likely it was that that might change.

She finished scanning that morning’s Prophet and felt relief at
seeing no mention of her name. It seemed, at least for the time being,
that the details of her messy departure from St. Mungo’s hadn’t yet
leaked their way to the public. With a resigned sense of duty, she
turned instead to her real target: the classified section.

Another fierce gust of wind swept her hair into flurry. Fluffy copper
curls obscured her vision as the gale raged, but Roxanne remained
resolute in her decision to occupy an outdoor table at Leonardo’s. After
seven years, and an unknowable number of cappuccinos, she would soon be
saying goodbye to the cafe that had become like an extension of her own
home. While she would certainly stop in whenever she was in the area,
it just wouldn’t be the same. Unless she managed to find another
lucrative career before her flat found new tenants, she wouldn’t again
live just across the street from Leonardo’s.

This is the end of an era, she thought, but the wistful notion
didn’t quite do justice to the enormity of her situation. It was more
like the end of a life—a life she had been carefully constructing since
her schoolgirl days.

The more Roxanne tried to cling to her old routine, the more her feeling
of loss stung. Businesses all along Diurn opened for the day, and she
felt a pang as she watched their windows twinkle to merry life. It was
just an ordinary Monday to them; they didn’t know she was saying
goodbye.

Eyes re-focused on the flat-share listings in the Prophet,
Roxanne lifted her cappuccino to her lips but found only the overly
sweet dregs where the sugar had settled at the bottom of her cup. With a
sigh, she stepped back inside to order her third coffee in as many
hours. She couldn’t return home yet, as the realtor was still showing
her flat, and she needed an excuse if she was to hang round Leonardo’s
all morning.

The cafe had been in continuous operation since the sixteenth century,
and little had changed in that time. Its stone walls were crowded with
paintings—all original DaVinci’s, rather than the static replicas
adorning muggle museums. A nude witch smirked and waved from the canvas
above the bar.

Returning to her seat in the fierce wind, she struggled to flatten her
newspaper. Her eyes paused on a listing—the first that was actually
within her price-range: Single Bedroom in Shared Flat, 100G/month. Marylebone, Muggle London.

Her heart leapt and she rummaged for a quill to circle the advert, then read further: Furnished
bedroom, shared kitchen and bath, apparition point on site. Desired
tennant is young, unemployed, and possessing of significant patience.
Independently wealthy or with a stable financial safety-net a plus, but
not required. Those who leave passive-aggressive notes about the washing
up need not apply. I will be showing the apartment today, prospective
candidates may drop by whenever.

Roxanne blinked down at the quixotic listing, not sure she’d read it
correctly. It had been the first instance she’d yet seen where
‘unemployed’ hadn’t been a deal-breaker. In fact, the degree to which
the advert reflected her current situation was uncanny.

She felt some pause over the mention of ‘passive-aggressive notes,’
though; Roxanne had always been fastidiously tidy. While she hadn’t
flat-shared since she’d been in Healer training, she’d been known in
those days to devise chore rotors and leave the occasional note if
anyone slacked on their duties. But for only a hundred galleons a month
she might be able to make a few allowances.

Independently wealthy, or with a stable financial safety-net, she
thought. Roxanne had enough in savings to get by for a while on a
budget, and in the event she couldn’t find another job before her funds
ran out, well…

She eschewed the idea of asking her family for gold, certain she’d much
rather kip out on James’ sofa (as he’d offered) than mooch off of her
father’s fortune. It seemed, somehow, more palatable to accept help from
her cousins and peers than from her elder family. It was a comfort that
her parents would never let her go destitute, but an option she had no
interest in ever exploiting.

With clear-eyed determination, Roxanne gulped down the last of her cappuccino and made out for muggle London.

It had been easy enough to find the building but she struggled to
identify the correct doorbell. Finally she spotted a cracking piece of
parchment spell-o-taped to the door frame. Faded ink read 221B
with an arrow pointed to an ancient-looking cord. Not sure what else to
do, she gave it a tug. The sound of bells jangled above her head,
harsher and more discordant than she’d expected, and she smoothed her
clothes with nervous hands.

In a desire to cheer herself up that morning
she'd paired her favorite tartan skirt with a pair of lime green
stockings, a yellow blouse, and a striped pink jumper. She began to
regret her ostentatious ensemble just as heavy footfalls sounded from
within.

Finally, the door creaked open to reveal a crumpled-looking face:
dishwater-blond hair stuck out at rakish angles, several days of stubble
darkened a gentle jaw, and a badly tattered housecoat hung open over a
pair of what had once been elegant dress robes. He looked young, maybe a
few years younger than Roxanne, but prematurely weathered.

"Oh," the wizard said, holding a tattooed hand up against the glare of the early afternoon sun. "Healer Weasley, I take it?"

"You—you were expecting me?" Roxanne blinked at the eccentric young man.

"I’m not a Legilimens," he rolled his eyes. "Well, I am, but it’s an
awful practice. Too messy. Too easily blocked, or corrupted, or
subverted. I prefer to deduce."

"So you deduced my name and job? From what?" Roxanne asked, suspicious.
"I mean, yeah, I'm black and I'm ginger, so that’s a give away—but how
did you know I'm a Healer?"

"Yes, your coloring is rather idiosyncratic, but no, that isn't how I figured your identity."

"What then?"

"Freshly roasted coffee," he replied.

"Pardon?"

"That's what you smell like,” he explained. “The oils aerosolize during
roasting, and cling to your hair and the fibres of your clothes. And
you’ve got a lot of hair, and with a particular texture, so you have
more surface area to trap the oils."

"And how does smelling like coffee tell you my name and occupation?"
Roxanne pressed, one fist perched on her hip. Dread began boiling in her
gut; perhaps something about her retirement from Healing had made the
press after all.

"Former occupation, but I'll get to that," the young man
corrected her. "Starting with the coffee: the aroma suggests a lower
tannin content. It’s a gruesome process—the beans have to pass through
the digestive tract of a kneazle. These coffee blends are expensive, and
the residual foam in your hair tells me you had a cappuccino. There are
a few places in London that serve luxury espresso, but only Leonardo's
on Diurn Alley has outdoor seating. Given your quantity of hair, you
might not have been sitting somewhere windy while you sipped your drink,
but as I've already established, you were a Healer, and so you aren't
likely to be sloppy."

"Yeah, so I had a cappuccino on Diurn, but—"

"Cappuccinos at Leonardo’s run for a galleon a cup,” he went on as if
there hadn’t been an interruption. “And judging by your tremor, you’ve
had at least a few today. So just this morning, you spent more than the
barista's daily wages on caffeine—this tells me you come from money.
Certainly Healers make decent salaries, but as I've mentioned, you are
no longer a Healer. Therefore, I have to assume you grew up rich; rich
enough that you wouldn't balk at spending a small fortune on gourmet
beverages."

Roxanne rolled her eyes, growing exhausted of his parlor trick and
increasingly convinced that she had indeed been photographed by some sly
Prophet reporter. "Since when is 'rich' synonymous with 'Weasley?'"

"Since the war, obviously," the man said, and his expression implied he’d wanted badly to follow up that statement by saying, duh.
"But there’s more evidence of your ancestry: Your muggle costume is
not, in itself, surprising—we’re in the middle of muggle London, after
all. But you wear it with some awareness to current fashion trends, so
you aren’t likely from the pureblood old guard. There's also the bold
mix of patterns and bright colors, which suggests a sense of humor, as
well as a marked lack of snobbery. These observations culminate to tell
me you are the daughter of successful joke shop business owner, George
Weasley. Plus, like you said, the ginger afro."

"But how'd you know I'm a Healer, then? It's been in the papers, hasn't it?"

"Were a Healer," the man corrected again and Roxanne felt her
face flush with annoyance. "The index finger and thumb on your left hand
are stained aubergine, a recognizable marker of someone who spends a
lot of time cutting bezoars for preparation in healing draughts. On its
own, that might just tell me that you work with potions, but the soles
of your shoes are rubber. And worn at the heels. Most potioneers don't
do a whole lot of walking on marble floors."

"And what, the type of wool in my jumper tells you that I quit?" Roxanne raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not, don't be absurd.”

"Oh, so nothing from my jumper then," she deadpanned.

"No no, your jumper tells me a great deal,” he gave an eager nod. “But it's absurd to suggest that you quit. No one with a decent salary or any prospects would bother inquiring about this flat. It's rather a hovel."

He hadn't lied. She followed him upstairs to find a coffee table overflowed with yellowing issues of Transfiguration Today
and at least twenty mouldy teacups perched precariously on the many
boxes and crates. Roxanne scrunched her nose against the stench of sour
milk and stale cigarette smoke, surveying the disaster that was 221B
Baker Street.

She almost hadn't followed the maddening young man into the building,
but burning curiosity had won out against her fierce desire to simply
slap him across his smug little face and storm off. More to the point,
it was the only housing she’d found within her limited price range.
Perhaps, she thought, she shouldn't throw money away on expensive
coffees after all.

"I have a very complex organizational system, so please don’t disturb
the order of the sitting room," he said, lighting a cigarette.

"Organized?" Roxanne scoffed. "You're a proper hoarder!"

"Not hoarder, collector," he inclined his head. "The crates all
contain sensitive case files for the Ministry, highly confidential. The
academic literature is stacked corresponding to each file, organized by
relevance. I know it’s… obscure, but there’s a method to it."

"And the mouldy teacups?" Roxanne raised a brow and eyed a particularly fuzzy mug with disdain.

"I find it helpful to leave, ah, booby traps around the flat," he
explained. The vibrato hadn't left his voice, but his shoulders sagged
noticeably. "Keeps me sharp."

Roxanne fought to contain an exasperated grumble and fanned his cloud of
smoke away from her face. She knew she had little choice in living
arrangements but couldn't stomach the prospect of having to navigate
such squalor.

"What about this?" she demanded, picking up a copy of Them! magazine. "Old celebrity gossip rags are hardly 'academic literature.'"

"I happen to be very invested in the details of Circe and Myron
Wagtail's relationship!" he replied defensively. A pause, then, “we may
be able to make some, ah, alterations to the common spaces."

At least her future-bedroom wasn't terrible. It was small, to be sure,
and faced south to a sunwell ensuring she'd get very little natural
light. But it was clean, and it was furnished, and it didn't smell. That
smell was even a concern reminded Roxanne what a significant reduction
she’d soon be making in her standard of living.

The furniture was old, she noticed. Antiques, but in rather shabby
condition. A green brocaded duvet spread over the bed, and while
threadbare in places, it had a certain beauty. Roxanne took a deep
breath, trying to picture making a life in that dingy little flat. She
spared a few seconds mentally redecorating the room, finding it easier
to plan how she might arrange her personal belongings than plan how she
might arrange her future.

One step at a time, she thought. Step One: find yourself. Step Two: get a life.

"So, will you be, er, moving in then?" her future flatmate asked around
the door. His voice had the tinge of timid eagerness, and while Roxanne
had been mostly frustrated by their interactions thus far, she couldn't
help but feel mildly endeared.

"Yes," she sighed. "I imagine I will be."

"Excellent," he said with a clap, all previous confidence restored. "You
can bring your things round later this evening. Rent is due on the
first of every month, and you can pay the landlady directly. First and
last month's to move in; Mrs. Hudson should be home by three."

"Good, okay," Roxanne nodded, feeling dizzy with the abruptness with
which she'd made such a major decision. "Well then, I guess I should..."

"Miss Weasley," the young man interrupted, pulling a rather fine
pocket-watch from his robes and checking the time. "Do you have any
prior engagements for the next two hours?"

"No, I—"

"Good, that saves coming up with an excuse to get out of them."

"Pardon?" she cocked her head, annoyed by the presumption.

"Would you care to accompany me to the Ministry? I could use a medical
consultation for a case. There’s a briefing at the D.M.L.E. in twenty
minutes."

tinaasante871:
when Max first got introduced to the story I was like#where the hell is sara#...lol... I loved every minute of reading this book... it was fantastic although I would have loved to read more about Sara and Allie's wedding.....Anyways I hope u have more of these books installed for us because you'v...

hridhyaraj:
I am only able to read till the bonus chapter of boyband...please someone tell me what happens after that.... I can't wait to know what happens next. does aqueela and jt get back together? what about Troy? I feel pity for the guy...and where does Emma and Xavier move to? I'm just flooded with ...

Tavis Ryan King:
"What Happened to Charlie Carmine" is a fabulous mo-gee-toe cocktail fuelled midget orgy of psychology, fantasy and sarcasm. I laughed out loud when reading this novel so many times it made the London commuters I shared space with look at me with curious disdain - and I did not care. [Rating: 4....

Samantha Speed:
There were several punctuation, grammar, and missing word problems but it did not detract from the story. This story was very well done, enjoyable, and had an interesting enough plot. It took a while to finish. This story is not complete. I love it, but I want to see another book or have more cha...

Jordan Young:
*ALERT FOR POSSIBLE SPOILERS* Where to start? I don't know how to sum up this review, this story was absolutely sensational. Brilliant. Flawless. I loved every single bit of this story, it is truly amazing. I read this story in fifteen hours, it is magnificent. I loved everything about it, the p...

Tony Lee:
Read this during my 7-hour flight. You've done a great job describing each situation, but I believe there is room for improvement. Also, the ending was a bit abrupt and I think the last part where Terry Hunter was brought in again (slight spoiler) wasn't really necessary.. But overall the story k...

JanThompson:
This book gives a beautiful description of a country which one rarely gets to see. The contrast between rich and poor is very evident too.The storyline actually sheds a compelling light on why women in certain countries sell themselves just to help their families or even to survive themselves. I ...

Jasmine Chow:
As I read this story, I was reminded some what of Terry Pratchett, especially some descriptions of politics and economics. The sci-fic setting is quite intriguing. Writing style is quite lovely and grew on me slowly. I was also slightly reminded of Mark Twain, especially his book A Connecticut Ya...

Destiny Lee:
This is amazing. It's totally realistic - cool girls have flaws, too, okay?? Totally awkward girl picks up her mom's old bass from her garage, messes around, and realizes, hey, maybe I can move on after all. She has moments where everything's hopeless for her, after all, an alcoholic dad and a fl...

Jazie Alyssa Flores:
There may have been many grammar errors. But OMG this story had me on an emotional rollercoaster ride. I loved every bit of it. The relationship Sydney and Cameron had was beautiful. I loved how it wasn't a typical love story but revolved around a growing friendship and the drama that surrounded ...

Gayle Gunderson Boyce:
I loved the book. Couldn't stop reading it. The story was good with a strong build up of suspense and sense of urgency to catch the killer. All clues pointed to Talbot yet enough things didn't add up to keep us looking and thinking. Jack Creed is a likeable character with lots of gut experience. ...

ianwatson:
The comedy is original and genuinely funny, I have laughed out loud many times reading this book. But the story and the plot are also really engaging. The opening two or three chapters seem quite character-dense but they all soon come to life and there is no padding, filling or wasted time readin...

mindushree1402:
It was really amazing.... I was not able to put it down..... just beyond awesome... no wonder writers do play with words... amazing storyline.... addictive too... I was so used to it that even when I'm not reading it story was continously streaming in my mind.... good job... I really liked that f...

Chak Nastya:
awesome story! had me hooked from the start. though i kind of already guessed what was going to happen next it was still a nice story. i have a feeling as if it hasn't been properly finished but i don't know why. but it's your story and you decide when it's over or not

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